Robby's Night- True Story

At the prodding of my friends, I am writing this story. My name is
Mildred
Hondorf. I am a former elementary school music teacher from Des
Moines,
Iowa. I've always supplemented my income by teaching piano
lessons-something
I've done for over 30 years. Over the years I found that children have
many
levels of musical ability. I've never had the pleasure of having a
prodigy
though I have taught some talented students.

However I've also had my share of what I call "musically challenged"
pupils.
One such student was Robby. Robby was 11 years old when his mother (a
single
Mom) dropped him off for his first piano lesson. I prefer that
students
(especially boys!) begin at an earlier age, which I explained to
Robby.

But Robby said that it had always been his mother's dream to hear him
play
the piano. So I took him as a student. Well, Robby began with his
piano
lessons and from the beginning I thought it was a hopeless endeavor.

As much as Robby tried, he lacked the sense of tone and basic rhythm
needed
to excel. But he dutifully reviewed his scales and some elementary
pieces
that I require all my students to learn.

Over the months he tried and tried while I listened and cringed and
tried to
encourage him. At the end of each weekly lesson he'd always say, "My
mom's
going to hear me play someday." But it seemed hopeless. He just did not
have
any inborn ability. I only knew his mother from a distance as she
dropped
Robby off or waited in her aged car to pick him up. She always
waved and smiled but never stopped in.

Then one day Robby stopped coming to our lessons.

I thought about calling him but assumed because of his lack of ability,
that
he had decided to pursue something else. I also was glad that he
stopped
coming. He was a bad advertisement for my teaching!

Several weeks later I mailed to the student's homes a flyer on the
upcoming
recital. To my surprise Robby (who received a flyer) asked me if he
could be
in the recital. I told him that the recital was for current pupils and
because he had dropped out he really did not qualify. He said that his
mother had been sick and unable to take him to piano lessons but he
was
still practicing. "Miss Hondorf ... . I've just got to play!" he
insisted.

I don't know what led me to allow him to play in the recital. Maybe it
was
his persistence or maybe it was something inside of me saying that it
would
be all right. The night for the recital came. The high school gymnasium
was
packed with parents, friends and relatives. I put Robby up last in the
program before I was to come up and thank all the students and play a
finishing piece. I thought that any damage he would do would come at
the end
of the program and I could always salvage his poor performance through
my
"curtain closer."

Well, the recital went off without a hitch. The students had been
practicing
and it showed. Then Robby came up on stage. His clothes were wrinkled
and
his hair looked like he'd run an eggbeater through it. "Why didn't he
dress
up like the other students?" I thought. "Why didn't his mother at least
make
him comb his hair for this special night?"

Robby pulled out the piano bench and he began. I was surprised when he
announced that he had chosen Mozart's Concerto #21 in C Major. I was
not
prepared for what I heard next. His fingers were light on the keys,
they
even danced nimbly on the ivories. He went from pianissimo to
fortissimo.
>From allegro to virtuoso. His suspended chords that Mozart demands
were
magnificent! Never had I heard Mozart played so well by people his
age.
After six and a half minutes he ended in a grand crescendo and everyone
was
on their feet in wild applause.

Overcome and in tears I ran up on stage and put my arms around Robby in
joy.
"I've never heard you play like that Robby! How'd you do it? " Through
the
microphone Robby explained: "Well Miss Hondorf . . .. remember I told
you my
Mom was sick? Well, actually she had cancer and passed away this
morning.
And well . .. she was born deaf so tonight was the first time she ever
heard
me play. I wanted to make it special."

There wasn't a dry eye in the house that evening. As the people from
Social
Services led Robby from the stage to be placed into foster care,
noticed
that even their eyes were red and puffy and I thought to myself how
much
richer my life had been for taking Robby as my pupil.

No, I've never had a prodigy but that night I became a prodigy. .. .
of
Robby's. He was the teacher and I was the pupil For it is he that
taught me
the meaning of perseverance and love and believing in yourself and
maybe
even taking a chance in someone and you don't know why.

Robby was killed in the senseless bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah
Federal
Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995. And now, a footnote to the
story.

Author Unknown!